


A Firm Hand

by mrstater



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Consensual Kink, Domestic Discipline, F/M, Marriage, Married Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 10:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1343983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstater/pseuds/mrstater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the good of the family, Jorah must get his wife under control. But who submits to whom?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Firm Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rubirosas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubirosas/gifts).



It was all Maege's doing.

The idea never would have come into Jorah's mind if his aunt had not put it there, and now he could think of little else.

_I never held truck with men who take firm hands with their wives,_ she said, _but the sooner you take one to your wife's perky little arse, the happier the lot of us will be._

Jorah growled back at her that she might follow her own advice on her brats the next time they took it into their wild dark heads to put fish guts in his lady's slippers for amusement, then made a hasty retreat from the hall before she could notice the strain against the laces of his breeches.

The cold, however, while enough to make a noblewoman born and bred in the Southron climes weep because it cut her to the bones, was not sufficient to make his cock return to its natural state. His neck prickled hotly beneath the collar of his cloak. What in seven bloody hells was wrong with him? He was no pubescent lad, that the mere mention of his wife's arse--her _perky little arse_ , his traitor mind added--was enough to make him harden like an adolescent. Worse, coupled with the shameful image of throwing her lithe body across his knee and smacking her bare upturned bottom so hard that she screamed as the print of his hand reddened against the white of her flesh…

What in seven bloody hells was wrong with _Maege_? She, who infuriated the Old Bear so by refusing to wed the fathers of her children, advocating for a man to do violence to a woman? Jorah was a _knight,_ by the gods!

Though there were moments--too many moments, of late, a voice at the back of his mind whispered--when Lynesse behaved like no lady…

_Bloody Maege._

~*~ 

Truth be told, Lynesse couldn't remember what they were arguing about. As was so often the case, it started off as a complaint about one thing, which led to another, until it escalated into a quarrel of increasing volume about, well, _every_ thing.

"Quiet now," Jorah barked at her. "Do you want the entire household to hear your tantrum?"

"And that's another thing!" Lynesse shouted back, not moderating her tone in the slightest. "Is it not enough that you must deprive me of all comforts? Must I be every moment in company, as well? It is not fitting that a Lady of House Hightower should share a roof with a…a… _she-bear_ and her brats!"

"The only brat under this roof stands here before me."

Her hand cracked against his cheek without her giving leave for it to do so. Lynesse felt the heat of Jorah's skin against her palm, saw it in his eyes as they narrowed on her. With a _hmph_ and a jerk of her chin she pivoted away from him, only for muscular arms covered in wiry dark hair to seize her round the waist and hoist her off the floor.

"Unhand me, you brute!" she bellowed.

Jorah did no such thing.

"Shut up," he growled, but Lynessedid no such thing.

She clawed at his hands and swung her heels back against his legs, but he held her fast and never broke stride until he plopped down on the bench at the foot of their bed, slinging her unceremoniously across his lap. Her struggle continued as he relinquished her with one arm, the other strong enough alone to trap her helplessly. He grasped the back of her skirt and jerked it up around her waist. A ripping sound accompanied a tug at her smallclothes, and she screeched at him.

"You lecture me about your empty coffers, but that's costly linen from--"

The smack of his open palm against her bared arse shocked her into falling still and silent.

Somehow it had not occurred to her that his intention in manhandling her had been to chastise--

Another slap.

Then, before the stinging had stopped, another.

Jorah spanked her thrice in quick succession--though this time Lynesse did not bear her punishment meekly. She wailed and kicked the air. _How dare he!_ The loathsome log walls of the bedchamber blurred with the tears of pain and humiliation that sprang into her eyes. Her face burned as hotly as her arse cheeks did.

Yet… The muscles in her abdomen, she noticed, constricted. She was holding her breath. Waiting for something. For what? For her husband to strike her again?

Did she… _want_ him to?

Beneath her belly she felt the unmistakable press of his arousal, and the familiar corresponding ache of desire between her own clenched thighs. Jorah's hand rested on her backside, long fingers splayed almost the breadth of her buttocks where they had fallen. How surprised she'd been when he bedded her for the first time at how light a touch so large and strong a hand could evoke.

He did not raise it against her again.

Nor did he make any effort to restrain her when she gripped his knee, pushing herself enough upright that she could twist in his lap and crane her neck to peer over her shoulder to see him. First, however, she stole a curious glance at her own arse, noting the mottled red that still marred her pale skin even though the sting had more or less gone out of it. Unfortunately.

"Forgive me." Jorah's gruff voice drew her eyes to his face, though his gaze was on the tips of his fingers, which absently stroked delicate patterns over her bottom. "I should not have…that was not…" He swallowed, then choked out. "… _honorable._ "

His remorse was sweet, Lynesse thought, but his cock told a different story. Wriggling against it, she heard his intake of breath, and pursed her lips against a smile.

"Is it not honorable for a husband to take a firm hand against his lady wife when she misbehaves?" she asked in the must submissive tone she could muster--not an easy attitude to affect--and opened her eyes wide in what she hoped was an expression of innocence.

Jorah saw through her charade in an instant. "This isn't a game, woman."

But even as he said it, his touch trailed lower, tickling the underside of her arse before his fingers finally slipped between her legs. When the callused pads discovered that she was wet, he made a low moan in his throat. Lynesse sighed--or was it a squeal?--and kicked out again as he pleasured her. _This_ was what she'd been waiting for her lord husband to do, what his firm hand to her backside strangely made her desire.

"If it's not a game, "she said, breathless and rocking her hips against his arousal, "then why are we having such fun?" 

~*~

_The sooner you take a firm hand to your wife's perky little arse, the happier the lot of us will be..._

Working his fingers along Lynesse's slick folds was _not_ , Jorah knew, what his aunt had meant. Nor had Lynesse's happiness been very much the object. She _was_ happy--of that he was fairly certain--writhing on his lap, panting out his name…

But he was absolutely sure, even when he covered her body with his own, pinning her to the floor as he thrust into her, that if anyone _had_ wielded a firm upper hand that day, it was his lady wife.

_Bloody woman._


End file.
